Writing Group: When Time Came Knocking

Knock knock, Crocodiles and White Rabbits! 

Who’s there, you ask? Who do you think? The one who’s always there. Stepping in rhythm to everything you do. Every action you take. Every word you say. Always lurking. Always hurting. Always healing. Always ticking. Because…

This week’s Writing Group prompt is:

When Time Came Knocking

Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!

I’m quite aware of who submitted this prompt, and why…because I submitted it! Time is one of my characters and I wanted to write a particular scene when he shows up at another character’s house. Of course, due to this, that is the first place my mind goes to with this prompt: the living embodiment of Time literally knocking at the door. You could explore how you yourself might give human form to time—Is your version of time Father Time, a small child, or rather the attractive lady next door? Perhaps your character has been literally running from time for a long time, and just when they think they’ve gotten away…there’s a knock at their door. Or you might choose a different embodiment. Could your Time be a dog, or cat playing with history as if it were a chew toy, or ball of yarn? Is your Time a clockwork being who ticks and clicks in addition to knocking? 

You could take this in a more symbolic way. Perhaps the neighbor dog pawing at your character’s door isn’t the literal embodiment of time, but when the newspaper it carries tells your character they need to get out of town, the symbolism is there. Maybe the attractive lady knocking on the door is perfectly ordinary, but her knock tells your character it’s finally time to ask her out. Time could mean many things. We often call death “our time.” This prompt could easily refer to death knocking. Is your character appalled, thinking they had more time on this earth? Or do they meet death with a gentle nod, understanding it is, in fact, their time? But it doesn’t have to be so sinister. Perhaps the “time” the prompt refers to is an event your character was really excited for, and the “knock” (friends knocking on the door, ready to join them, perhaps?) is met with joy. Anything your character might say “it’s time” for—they might realize “it’s time” for a change, or “it’s time” to go. 

There are other, simpler uses of time too. Perhaps a teenager is playing games, and their parent knocks on the door to tell them it’s dinnertime. Even a time limit in said video game could work as time knocking. You could write about something as ordinary as an elementary kid struggling with their times tables, or a barista looking forward to their shift ending. An appointment one is dreading certainly often feels like time is knocking if. Someone who is very busy and never feels like they have enough time might constantly feel as though time is knocking. Perhaps the message of that story would be the opposite of most: they must learn they have more time than they think. 

There are many different types of knocks as well. I’ve talked about knocks at a door, and haven’t even explored all the uses there—what about trap doors? Knocking on the walls?—but you could write about other knocks. What about knocking on wood? What might Time need luck for? Or does time send the sound of knocking throughout a character’s life as a warning—something like “the bell tolls for thee”? One might consider a simple “tick tock” a knock of sorts. Someone sitting in a quiet room, hearing the ticking clock, might believe it to be an incessant knocking. The chimes of a grandfather clock, or the cuckcoos of a cuckoo clock could function in this way too. Cinderella hearing the dings of the midnight bell, trying to leave the castle before they finish chiming certainly fits this prompt. …You could even use a nock pun as we watch time getting their bow ready, much like Eros/Cupid might. 

Time knocking could easily be interpreted as the consequences of one’s actions catching up to them. The tyrant controls the kingdom for a long time, but eventually the rebels reach his door. A thief is finally caught. A lie finally is exposed. In the movie Mirror Mirror, the Evil Queen’s mirror is constantly telling her magic comes with a price. Even though she doesn’t know what the price is, she insists she will pay it. In the end of the movie, the price is that she turns into an old lady. Age and ugliness are her greatest fears, and this is a terrible fate to her. In this case, this is time knocking in two ways: the price of magic coming back to bite her, and literal age catching up to her. 

Speaking of a character getting aged up in a moment, perhaps you could write about something like Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle. Perhaps your character experiences time knocking in a spell cast on them that ages them up, ironically, before their time. Or perhaps an ordinary orphaned child feels they have to grow up too fast to take care of themselves? What happens when time comes knocking at, well…the wrong time? 

A sillier use of this prompt could be something inanimate that represents time—like a clock—getting up and walking to the door. Perhaps you want to write about a world of living inanimate objects, and the clock knocks on the hammer’s door to say that’s quite enough noise…only for the hammer to retort that the clock has been chiming every hour for the past week! 

My technical challenge for you this week is to use rhythm and/or onomatopoeia to help the vibes of your piece come across more clearly. If you want to create a sense of foreboding, perhaps you want to put a literal knocking onomatopeia throughout your piece—create the feeling that something is coming. If you want to create the feeling of aggravation, perhaps you want to use a ticking onomatopoeia a little too much. If you want to show excitement, perhaps you want to use a fast rhythm in your wordings to convey this. If you want to show a character waiting, maybe you want a rhythm of sentences that is long and drawn out. (My fragments + anaphora in my intro sentence above could be considered as a ticking of sorts!) 

My content challenge is to pick something other than death to write about. While a fitting use of the prompt, death seems like one of the most obvious choices. Get creative! Pick something a little more outside the box! Especially as I may be dealing with the death of a family member of my own very soon, I would certainly appreciate more wholesome and wacky takes on the prompt myself this week. 

Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!

I am sorry about this. But I won’t be relegated to the background anymore. It is your time. You must come with me. Whether you come quietly is your choice.


Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.

Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!

The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.

Rules and Guidelines

We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!

  1. Text and Formatting

    1. English only.
    2. Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
    3. Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
    4. Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
    5. Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
    6. Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
    7. No additional text styling (such as italics or bold text). Do not use asterisks, hyphens, or any other symbol to indicate whether text should be bold, italic, or styled in any other way. CAPS are okay, though.
  2. What to Submit

    1. Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
    2. Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
    3. Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
    4. No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
    5. Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
  3. Submission Rules

    1. One submission per participant.
    2. Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
    3. Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
    4. You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
    5. Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
    6. Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
    7. You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
    8. Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.

Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.

Notify of

Oldest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
6 days ago

A Pixies Dress By Vex The sun crested the golden hills that embraced Johnathan’s greenhouse and shone through the vine-infested dome. Near its center, encompassed by a beatitude of color, rested an elderly man shaded plants. He slunk deep into a hardwood chair and wore a bunnyhug as white as his hair. The only sound that carried in that humid greenhouse was the steady click of Johnathan’s wristwatch. The center of the watch was flanked by silver ravens, and it was fastened to his wrist by a crumbling strap of leather. Incessantly it ticked, yet Johnathan slept on. It was only when the sun was high enough to shine in his eyes that he woke. Despite his morning hunger, Johnathan lay back and observed his companions. He took in the florescence of the lavender on his left, and watched the daffodils play to his right. “I wish I had grown to appreciate these youngins’ earlier” Johnathan thought “That way I might have been able to spend more time with her.” A resentful smile hung on Johnathan’s face as he looked at the pot of Lillies in front of him. They were always her favorites. Mary had always told me that the pedals of a Lily would be made into dresses for pixies. You had to take extra loving care of the Lillies, as the pixies would reward those who produced excellent Lilies. Johnathan gave a light chuckle at the memory. Groaning, he stood from his chair and hobbled his way to his cane. He then picked up the Lilies and examined them for defects. Despite not believing in pixies, Johnathan still took the utmost care of Mary’s beloved Lilies. He found that one of the heads had begun too whither. Knowing that more than likely needed his daughter’s help tending to the flower, Johnathan checked the time. He did not want to interrupt his daughter’s work, but that would be the least of his troubles now. His old watch had stopped. Heaving a sigh, he turned to the door. Just as he reached for the handle that he heard a knock from the door. Opening it slowly, Johnathan saw a little girl carrying a basket. “Grandpa, I’ve got somefin for you!” She thrust the basket into his hands. Taking the basket, Johnathan paused for a moment before plucking a Lily and tucking it behind his granddaughter’s ear. She stood mouth agape “Grandpa!? You nevur let me have a Lily before, why?” Her eyes shone bigger than her smile. “Let’s just say that a pixie needs to dress in a Lily at least one in her lifetime.” She then began jumping in a circle, hands flailing in excitement. “I got to show Momma!” she said as she skipped away thought the golden grass. Sighing, Johnathan took the basket back inside. Fining his way back to his chair, Johnathan sat with the basket in his lap. Opening it, he found a bundle of thyme. A warm feeling welled inside him as he… Read more »

7 days ago

A Special Payment for Overtime Work
By: Vin

Clackclack. Clack.

Gladys Merrweather pauses mid-type to stare at the notification that pops onto her screen. “Alert. Klaus Raynott: 7 overdue books—exceeding 6666 days.”
A sigh, as Gladys leans back in her chair. She takes her glasses off and lets it hang on the chain around her neck. Slowly, she rolls her neck, feeling the tension. Her muscles are cold and stiff from sitting at her desk all day. It has been a long, complacent while since the last one. There is a metal baseball bat tucked securely underneath her desk. She has missed the feel of it in her hand.

Klaus’ breath escapes in panicked staccatos. Clackclack. Clack. The sound of heels plinks off the linoleum of the floor. He peeks around the desk he’s hiding behind and sees a pair of heels stopped near a desk nearby. CRACK. Wood splits underneath the metal bat and Klaus whips his head around so fast that his neck hurts because he had just seen the heels turn smartly towards his direction.

Clackclack. Clack. Curled up in a fetal position, Klaus doesn’t bother looking up, knowing those accursed arrhythmic heels have stopped at his desk. “Please,” he whispers. He isn’t even sure if the librarian can hear him. He isn’t even sure if it matters.

A pleasant voice sounds above him. “They always think they can run. But you cannot hide forever.” The voice continues, dripping with delight. “Overdue books are twenty-five cents per day. You, my dear, have all seven of Jane Austen’s works overdue for six thousand sixty-six days. That puts you to, oh, about eleven thousand six hundred sixty-five dollars.” An amused pause. “And fifty cents.”

Klaus looks up at her and whimpers. “I—I don’t have that much money on me right now. Please. It’s been years. I don’t know where they could be.”
Gladys smiles hungrily. “Well. I think we’ve given you enough time to find them. After all, there’s always another way to pay.”

Clackclack. As she approaches, the chain around her glasses sways to the rhythm of the hardworking hangman’s hum as the noose tightens.


Partly polo
Partly polo
7 days ago

Time ticks down
By PartlyPolo

Michael nibbled on the edges of his pointer fingernails. “I really need to stop doing this,” he thought to himself. Already, his fingernails were reduced to small stubs. His bad habit always flared up when he was nervous, and with his manuscript overdue by a day, he knew it would only be a matter of time before his boss started another email correspondence asking where his work was. The same song and dance. Over and over again. “Should’ve started earlier,” he muttered under his breath. Another thing he kept repeating. Except he had. Earlier than usual anyhow. But it felt useless. As he sat at his desk, his eyes staring straight into his draft, he felt hopeless. He had rewritten it five times at least. Each time, the words felt stuck inside him, like a Taco Bell burrito after being digested. He would come up with a different ending, hoping the results would be different. But over and over again, he found himself stuck in a loop. He sighed and rubbed his temples. He needed to focus. He needed to finish this manuscript. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. Instead, all he could think about was the hot water he would land in if he didn’t finish his manuscript. Michael stood up and began to pace. As long as he divvied up his time properly it would be totally fine. As he walked along to the other end of his desk, he heard the sound of a bell. The sound of a bell tolling. For him. His time had come. Taking a deep breath, he turned around, ready to face the music.

“Attending an impromptu wedding in Vegas. Still want that manuscript by the end of the week. NO EXTENSIONS.”

Michael let out a loud whoop of happiness. He had a few more days to procrastinate.

7 days ago

Weathered By Time (Chronicles of The Dragon)
By Makokam

Artemis walked by the alter, picking up a honey cake as she went. She took a bite as the worshiper who’d made the offering watched, wide eyed. She stopped and looked at them. “These are excellent. Did you add coconut?”

The girl was too stunned to answer.

Artemis licked the crumbs from her fingers. “Thank you. You can take the rest with you.”

Leaving the girl to collect her offering and return to her friends, Artemis exited the temple. She gazed across the city for a few moments, before deciding to go home.

Her old family home sat on a small island, that long ago held a temple to Artemis. She, and her family, had been followers of the previous Artemis, before she had taken on her mantle. That had been a thousand years ago. Or was it twelve hundred years? Fifteen hundred?

Time really was a thing only mortals kept track of.

She noticed a young woman in the yard, putting clothes on the line, as she entered the family home. Inside, a woman with grey hair was preparing a meal. She looked up from her work as Artemis entered and smiled. “Aris! It’s been a long time.”

Artemis smiled. “It can’t have been that long, Sophie, you look as I remember. It’s nice to hear my old name again though.”

Sophie laughed, “I don’t know if I should be sad that I’m so old you can’t see me aging, or happy I look the same at 60 as I did at 50.”

Artemis blinked. “Has it really been a decade?”

“It has. That’s Callianthus outside.”

“Little Calli? I was worried that I was losing track of time, but I hadn’t thought it was this bad.” Artemis fell into a chair. “I’m worried I might be losing myself as well.”

“You should stay for dinner then. Might help remind you who you are.”

Callianthus opened the door. “Did I see Aunt Aris?”

“You did,” Artemis said.

Callianthus ran over and hugged her.

Aris smiled, and looked over her great grand-niece. “Would you like to go hunting with me?”

7 days ago

Time Trip

By: Iskritt


A loud pounding sound echoed through Ehaan’s house. He immediately jumped out of his chair, on alert for what could have possibly caused the noise.


The sound came again. This time, Ehaan was able to tell it had come from his front door.

“What could possibly want my attention this badly?” Ehaan asked himself as he approached the door. One more ‘THUD’ rattled the door as Ehaan went to open it.

“I’m here!” Ehaan said, opening the door. What he found on the other side was indescribable. He could tell something was there, but it was as if his eyes were trying to convince him there wasn’t.

“What the f-“ Ehaan was cut off as he suddenly felt a force run over him like a strong wind. He put his arms up and head down to brace against the push until it suddenly stopped. When he looked back up, he was no longer in his home.

The strange…something still stood in front of him, and the building he was in was similar to his house, but everything about it was different. Different paint, wall decorations, and technology he had never seen.

“Where am I?”

He got no response other than another push of wind. This time, when it stopped, the building was gone. He stood with whatever strange entity this was in a massive field. The grass was taller than he had ever seen and trees were scattered about. Despite this, the contour of the hills around him still seemed familiar. Was he still in the location of his house?

“Uhhhh, when am I?”

Before he could ponder his own question, he was pushed into new scenery, this time with a dark sky and no plant life around. He was in a building again, but it was deteriorated and old.


One more shove of wind and he found himself back in his home. The entity in front of him seemed to be moving away.

“That was fun.” He heard something say. “It’s funny how the mortal mind works.”

7 days ago

Settling down (Morgan & Alea)
By Reidrev

Luc slouched into his chair. He took the bottle of wine, poured himself a huge glass and downed it. “The time has come, I have to get married.”

He couldn’t wait for his and Vivianne’s romance to blossom. He had to support his siblings and for that, he needed a stable high-paying job; a noble’s family business and for that, he needed a noble spouse.

“About time,” Morgan said, flatly, from the other side of the room before sitting up on the couch. His clear blue eyes mindlessly gazed at his empty glass as he continued. “May I suggest earl Shapiro? The cousin of your patron. His son is looking to be wed. Their mansion is huge and… close to Vivianne’s quarter”

Uther slammed his fist on the little table in the living room. “What the heck! Grow a spine, toughen up and marry… you know who.” He ended in a whisper as if he was the only one in the know. “Listen, Luc, I know it’ll be hard but you’re a princess’s friend! Money will not be a problem.”

“Money isn’t, pride is. We all know I will not be able to graduate this year, alright? We all know that. Where will I find any housing? Alea, again? How long will I have to leech from her Uther?” With a sigh, Luc put his forehead against the cold clay glass. “A stable job for a competent employee. A contract-like marriage… Love would be better, but I don’t have time… I just don’t.” quiet tears fell in his cup.

Silence fell upon the room. “Shapiro for sure then. Trust my experience. Nobles love to brag about elevating the poor.” Morgan smiled sadly, getting up to fetch the bottle.

Uther scoffed, taking the bottle away from him. “Your experience? We’re about the only people you talk to.”

The young scholar raised an eyebrow, slowly waving his left ring finger, a thin gold band circling it.

“Time didn’t wait for me either” Morgan stated monotone before taking back the wine bottle. They drank a lot this night.

7 days ago

By MasaCur

“Isaiah, phone for you,” Tracy said.

Isaiah nodded and reached over to the phone on his desk, grabbing the handset, and clicking on the flashing button. “Hello. Isaiah Montross speaking.”

“Hello, Isaiah. This is Nadine calling from Kendricks Appliances. We are calling because you are listed on our contact sheet for a client regarding us sending out a service call on a dishwasher.”

Isaiah froze. He wasn’t sure when he would get this call. It had been fourteen years since he had been planted in this cover identity. Fourteen years of waiting, of maintaining the facade of this existence. He wasn’t even sure that this call was ever going to come after a while.

“Isaiah, are you still there?” Nadine asked.

“Yes, sorry. I am.”

“You were listed as a contact for a John Peterson. Do you know John Peterson?”

“I do.”

“We have a message for him. Someone can be by to fix his dishwasher between noon and four tomorrow afternoon. Can you pass that message on for us?”

Isaiah took a deep breath. “Yes, I understand. I will let John know as soon as possible.”

“Have a good day.”

Isaiah opened the bottom drawer of his desk, and pulled up the false bottom. Lying inside was a pistol with a suppressor attached and two magazines inside..

“Tracy, do you have an up to date list of the attendees for tomorrow’s lunch meeting?” Isaiah asked.

“It should be in the e-mail sent yesterday.”

Isaiah pulled open the e-mail and his eyes shot to one name on the list. Duty called.


“I’d like to welcome our distinguished special guest, the Minister of Commerce for the nation of Cradova, Dmitri Brimic. As you know, our government has recently signed a trade agreement with Cradova. I hope that this union will prove fruitful for both our nations.”

Everyone around the table rose to clap. Everyone except Isaiah. Isaiah instead reached into his waistband and withdrew the handgun and raised it.

There was a scream.

“Long live the Milinoc Independence Coalition!” Isaiah announced. He fired twice.

Karl Sterneman
7 days ago

Meeting a God
By Karl Sterneman

“You’re a miracle, Kaden.” Time says, standing before me, their mechanical form somehow human.

“I’m nothing though-”

“You are everything. Creation and destruction all rolled into one singular figure. You have so much power and no time left to use it if you do not act.”

There is a resoluteness in their voice, as if they’ve had this conversation a million times before. Perhaps they have.

“You have broken every science nameable in your era. You’ve gone so far as to invert time itself to save your friend and now you are here; and so I offer you a choice. You can let the world run to ruin, vanish into raw chaos from the singularity, or return to a world in which he is gone.”

“Alec-” I stop to think.

Tears well in my eyes. The pressure of my life collapsing in on me compounded by the realization that I may never again be able to look into Alec’s cyan eyes and-

And what?

I always relied on him, leaned on him, hoping he might see me, but he never did. His eyes were always elsewhere.

I fall to my knees, and Time kneels down, lifting my chin so my eyes lock on theirs.

My tears slow enough for me to see Time’s eyes clearly, and I can see they are no longer reciting lines. This is an offer.

“I know he means more to you than anyone else ever could, but he would not want you to use this power you have forged for such destruction, even to save him. Especially to save him. I will wind back the clock enough so you may start again. I will return the singularity to its place beyond the end of the universe, and I will leave all that’s left to you.”

I nod, and they extend their hand to me. I take it and we stand, and the cosmos around us melts into the cyclical horizon of the black hole. Alec standing before me instead of Time.

And now I know what to do.

8 days ago

The Sands of Time
By Koryan

The Sands of Time grants you a vision young prince:

My heart thundered, eyes widened; where I should’ve bolted straight up in bed instead I caught myself before I face planted onto the ground.

My neck tickled with sweat as I gathered my surroundings.

The throne room, my future self sitting in all black attire with a black crown.

Our eyes met he moved his hand in such an elegant manner, such a simple and quick movement that forced me into a bow. The same bow my father expects of me. How humiliating.

I willed my mind to move my body; it did not comply.

“Tsk, aren’t I so adorable.” He stood like him. And walked closer, liked him.

Get a hold of your breathing!

“There’s no reason to be afraid of yourself, little lamb.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“What’s the matter is your tongue suddenly heavy for you?”

How is he using magic?

He walked slowly around me unaware of the Sands of Time circling around me.

Please, please get me out of here, I pleaded silently to the sand.

My throat tightened, heart thundering, eyes wandering, I couldn’t focus on a single word he was saying as he circled me like a vulture.

As the the Sands of Time made it’s final loop around me, “If you play your cards right you can become me; I can’t wait to see what our future holds,” were the last words I heard before I bolted straight up in my bed.

Was that a nightmare? Or a warning?

“Maybe it was a nightmare, I haven’t been sleeping normal as of late.”

I surveyed my chambers and steady my breathing, there glimmering in the corner of eye the Sands of Time pulsed begging me to follow.

I sighed, “You’re not going to let me rest are you?”

I decided against lighting a candle, instead let the Sand guide me.

“Lead the way.”

I let my hand hover over the magical sand.

The Sands of Time grants you a vision.

8 days ago

Darkest before the Dawn (a companion piece to Chimes to Sunset)
By Aracnarquista

Each new marking on the calendar brings us closer to the season. At first, my anxiety is measured in months, then weeks, days, and now, hours. It won’t be long until we are dealing with minutes. Then seconds.

There is a ray of light coming from the window, marking a luminous patch on the floor. It solemnly moves, approaching my chair. Each step it takes brings it closer. Each step makes it fainter. This too marks the time.

The church bells, far away, fills the air with sound and dire warnings. It is already the season, and the preparations for the ball must already be completed. It chimes again, invitingly, menacingly. This, too, marks the time.

My heartbeat accelerates. The thrumming in my head speeds up. I have been living in the dark and dull for so long, sealed inside this eclipse for… how long? I don’t know if I can bear the Sun anymore. Yet, its playful dim arm still reaches to me from across the room. This, too, marks the time.

As my anxiety grows, its faint light ceases to be, and the lights on the street flare up. The ball is about to start.

With effort, I rise from the chair and walk to the wardrobe. The face I left there a year ago stares me back – a threat, a dare, a promise. I ignore it for the moment. Its gaze is too much for me to bear now.


Even in the dying light, I can see myself in the mirror. Still enough luminosity to apply the golden make-up. Each step of the process hides the worry on my face, and makes me less dull, more… like me. Each step of the process is easier than the last one. This, too, marks the time.

The strange face in the mirror tries to venture a smile, but it is not yet the moment. The bell outside rings once more. I wear the shining robes, and once again don the mask.

The face in the mirror finally smiles. The Radiant Sun rises – and shines, once again.

8 days ago

Time knocks no more

by Reinkarnitor

It has always been the same. No matter who her familiar has been, in the end they got drunk on the power they got through her. Only to realize too late that it was not their decision how they could use their power.

Tick Tock. Your time is up.

And so Emma sent the girl in tunica to hell. Trying to destroy the rich of the city with her power? That was not right!

While in the beginning she was devastated by it, she soon learned that humans…no, not just them, but all creatures in fact, had a very primal drive that lead them all to sooner or later see what they could gain for themselves by using her power.

Tick Tock. Your time is up.

And so Emma sent the catlike creature to hell. Trying to incinerate all dogs of London with her power? That was not right!

It has happened so many times that Emma was almost able to count the minutes down until the inevitable betrayals by her familiars. And over time she started feeling less and less when ending a contract in the gruesome she had to.

Tick Tock. Your time is up.

And so Emma sent the horned half-devil to hell. Trying to take over all of London, making it a 10th circle of hell with her power? That was not right!

She had long accepted it as her punishment. That she could never get close to anyone, that everyone will always betray her, that she for eternity will have to send her familiars to hell.

“Tick Tock. Your time is up.”

Emma shook her head to get back to reality. Across from her sat the detective X, her current familiar.

“Emma are you okay?” he asked her.

“I…I…sure, yes. What did you say?”

“Well, you missed your turn” he explained and gestured at the chess board in front of them. “And so…checkmate!”

Emma couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.

“You really made me jump there for a second, X.”

“Excuse me?”

She showed him her rare smile.

“It’s not important, my beloved familiar. Not anymore.”

9 days ago

Who is knocking?

By Galer.

For Ultinia the elf this world was weird.

That said something, since she lived with the portrait of unrestrained mad science: Xiolan.

Although she was more of a babysitter to him, with Gerard and the rest of the team.

Ever since they got summoned here, things were just one thing after another.

The rain was bizarre, the inhabitants were detached floating hands and spherical heads inside a tunic.

Not to mention these people didn’t have a sense of time.

But they did have a calendar, for what? It wasn’t exactly in Utilnia’s team knowledge.

Upon seeing the calendar, Xiolan told Ultina, “If you hear a knock, can you open the doors or please? I want to ask them for samples”

“Who are they?” Ultinia asked.

“As far as I can tell? Weird beings the size of your thumb,” the Horned scientist said “So far my studies say that they are made out of literal days of the week and other insanities I don’t yet understand”

“Of course, it wouldn’t be you without touching something weird” Ultinia pointed out. “Usually people do not touch things like that”

“Aha, but I am not like most people. I am a pioneer of sciences Madam!” Xiolan exclaimed with ever-enthusiastic ham “Neither thunder nor rain will stop me in my scholarly pursuits!”

Ultinia could only shake his head with a smile on his face.

If anything, he was enthusiastic about the prospect and it was contagious.

Before he could say more, they heard a raspy knock on the main base door.

Ultinia opened it, and they came pouring out in the thousands. They were gnomish-like, with big googly eyes, composed entirely of different geometrical shapes, some Ultinia didn’t even know existed, and some that she was sure didn’t exist.

“‘Sup,” one then said casually with a deep baritone voice for his size.

Ultinia turned towards Xiolan who had an excited grin on his face and waved back.

In this world, there wasn’t a single boring day assisting a mad scientist like him.

Even during his research.

Lee Strangely
Lee Strangely
9 days ago

The Complete Edition of Wachlesty V. Reedmor’s “The Hour Hand”
presented by Lee Strangely

Publisher’s note: Reedmor’s magnum opus “The Hour Hand” was largely thought to be forever left incomplete (and originally published as such), but with the help of the late author’s great, great, great grandson, thrice removed, the manuscript has finally been completed.

Looking back at my own reflection in the cold mirror, I knew I wasn’t like other people. To those who may not know, you can call me [add name here later].*

It all changed when I finally noticed it that day.

There comes a knock when you’re born. You don’t realize it’s there at the start.

I felt my chest. My door knocked loud and hard. The time drew near to soon answer that door. Opening the door, I knew that face. The hands that then suddenly grabbed me were that of Time.

I looked into his infinite eyes, and he into mine.

In this, he didn’t see the knife in my hand. I plunged it in.

I didn’t realize until it was too late.

I was killing Time.


*Editor’s note: name was originally [placeholder] in the first edition, but was changed due to copyright issues.

**Editor’s note: the original, intended ending was thought to be completely lost until the section was rediscovered in an earlier draft found in someone’s gutter. Until now, it was hotly debated whether it in fact ended with “the end” or “that’s all folks.”

Note from Reedmor’s estate: Reedmor considered this story to be autobiographical, drawing heavily from real events.

Editor’s note: Reedmor was known to take copious amounts of drugs… Which his estate will vehemently deny.

Note from Reedmor’s estate: Reedmor had never, nor would ever take drugs.

Editor’s note: Reedmor’s estate is ran by idiots.

Note from Reedmor’s estate: the editor is a hack.

Editor’s note: dimwits…

Note from Reedmor’s estate: dipstick…

Publisher’s note: the original publishing house responsible for editing and translating the story unfortunately went under before the story could be published. We apologize for releasing it in this state, as we were under the impression that the notes were a part of the story…

Fat Cat
Fat Cat
9 days ago

My Baby Brother
By: Fat Cat

“Shouldn’t you be going back home soon?” my Friend asks.

“Oh, uh… not yet,” my mind swirled with an excuse to say, “I…uh…I want to gather a little bit more. Things, um, isn’t so good back home. I want to make a feast for tomorrow!”

A look of gloom and pity fell over my friends’ eyes. It hasn’t been long since Mama died. But what no one seems to know is that Papa and I didn’t only lose Mama that day. We also lost the newborn baby, my baby brother. He was so small and so wrinkly, but so incredibly cute. Papa was so proud. But then…he suddenly disappeared while I was looking after him. I cried to Papa when he suddenly disappeared from his bassinet but instead of getting together a search party, Papa told me to forget about my baby brother; that there was never a baby.

Not long after, Mama was gone too. She never got better; I think it was my fault. For losing him. Mama didn’t get to hold him, she couldn’t even give him his name before he disappeared. At her funeral, Papa didn’t say a thing about the baby. Nor did the midwife who helped Mama. The midwife denied ever having helped Mama give birth to my baby brother.

“Alright, but don’t stay out for too long!”

“I won’t!” I bid my friends goodbye as they left.

The truth is, I’m just trying to stay away from home as much as possible. I just can’t stop thinking about my baby brother’s disappearance at home.

Thump. Thump. Thump.


I looked up from the ground, carefully searching around me only to find no one. What was that sound? It sounded oddly like the sound at the door on that day. As I was looking after my baby brother, there was a thump at the door. When I opened it, there was no-one on the other side, only the darkness of the night. Then there was a big gust of wind, and my baby brother was gone.

Last edited 9 days ago by Fat Cat
The Missing Link
The Missing Link
9 days ago

For Whom the Bell Tolls
By: The Missing Link

I sat at the bar, sweat mixing with the condensation on the side of my beer. Place wasn’t fancy, holes in the wall rarely are, but it was comfortable. A piano in the corner got play on Friday nights. Owner always did right by me, put up with a fair bit more of my crap than he needed to.


I jumped. I’m not usually so fidgety, but when you’ve had the week I had, blame me then. I’d been in this game for a while, but this week was different. I’d tried to get out.

Everyone’s favorite piano man appeared in the doorway and gave me a nod, “John.” He wouldn’t usually be on for another hour when the respectable types got off work.

“Hey Phil.”

“Sure you want to be here now?”

I sighed, “Good a place as any.”

He shrugged and went to tuning the piano, sounding it off a Metallica song. How he managed it on a piano, well I’d seen weirder, but it still felt like magic.

“Play it Sam,” I joked, and he just rolled his eyes. I make jokes when I’m worried. Call it whatever you will, but it’s gotten me this far, keeping a sense of humor, whatever this far means when I’m jumping at shadows and watching the door like the old guy tired of the business in some mob movie… and I definitely didn’t have that Corleone charm.

For a time, I let myself linger on it all, the beer, the people closest to friends in this city, the beer drifting to room temperature. I’d miss it, when the time came.

The bell on the door killed my mood almost as fast as the figure there chilled my blood. He, it? wore a black cowl, looking like some monster out of a Tolkien book. No rings here…

I didn’t give him the chance. My .44 tore through my jacket pocket, spraying the door behind him in bright gold. He walked over, looking unimpressed.

“You know you can’t kill gods John, and you will become one. Like it or not.”

9 days ago

Running from Time
By Basil


The noise was abrupt, exchoing the beats of the woman’s heart. She gazed at the oak door’s splintering wood, knees tucked into chest- heart pulsating panic through her veins.


The subtle jiggling of the doorknob ensued, gradually growing to a climax, the crescendo deafening. She could barely hear her own shallow pants.






The girl crouched down and jerked her head away from the door, some outlandish thought convinced her maybe if she tucked herself into a ball so tight, she’d disappear into herself. Unforchantly, that didn’t work out- as the everpresent snaps and crackling of death’s bony fingers drew closer to her ear. A cold hand was placed on her shoulder.

“It’s time.”

“No… no, please…”

His grip tightened.

“Why are you running?”

“Because, I- I’m not ready, I deserve to live…”

“Your time has come,” The stern death exhaled, somehow softening. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.”

“I was- doing better… I- please, just one more year.”

“Why do you wish to stay?”

“My- My family-”

“-Are with me.”

“My friends?”

“You’ve made none. You can’t lie to me. Why do you wish to stay?”

“Because… I’m afraid.”

The suffocating stiffness of the atmosphere settled to a still.

“I’m afraid- that when you take me… there will be nothing, nobody… just- what if there is no other side?”

Death loosened his grip and stood upwards, reaching out a hand.

“You’ll never know if you stay.”


“You might loose yourself, but others will never loose you. You’ll live on through there memories. What is death if not a celebration of life? A reflection of what you left behind? An opportunity to be grateful for the ones who made it special?”

“I just- I don’t want to be alone… and I don’t want to leave them alone.”

“You won’t. I promise.”

The girl cautiously grabbed his elongated fingers, shakily clutching his grip. He gave her a reassuring smile, and both faded from time.

Shinee (Shinigamma)
Shinee (Shinigamma)
10 days ago

The Game of Life
by Shinee (Shinigamma)

An odd trio sat around the table. A figure wrapped in a black cloak and clutching a malicious-looking scythe. A green-skinned woman with vines for hair and wearing a dress made of flowers. And a winged man holding a bow, stark naked save for a fig leaf covering his unmentionables.

The cloaked figure glanced at the clock. It was half past six. “He’s late,” he groaned.

“He’ll be here soon, Death,” said the green woman, retrieving a box of dice.

“He’s the personification of Time, Life!” snapped Death, biting into an apple (which rotted as soon as it touched his lips), “How can he be late?”

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

The winged man stood up and danced to the door. “He’s here!” he trilled.

“No need to overreact, Love,” muttered Death.

Love opened the door to reveal a clockwork man with clockfaces for eyes. He wore a crisp business suit and carried a briefcase.

“Good evening,” said Time politely, as he stepped in.

“Hello Time!” greeted Life.

“Hi Timey!” sang Love.

“You’re late,” moaned Death.

“No, I’m not,” said Time, nodding to the clock.

The others looked at it. It was back to six o’ clock.

Death cursed. “Don’t play games!” he growled.

“Come now, everyone,” said Life, “Let’s not fight. Did you bring your character sheet, Time?”

“Yes,” said Time, retrieving it from his briefcase.

“Good!” said Life, “Then welcome everyone to the first session of our Houses and Humans group. Please introduce your characters!”

“I’m Cindy!” said Love, “She’s an art school graduate and aspiring writer!”

“Unemployed…” murmured Life, scribbling in a notebook.

“I am Richard,” said Time, “I work for a tech start-up.”

“Unbearable… douchebag…”

“I’m Jake,” said Death, “I’m a high school drop-out who works at a supermarket. It’s just temporary till my rock band gets going.”

“Never… gonna… happen…”

Life put down her pen.

“Right,” she said, “You all start off living in a twelve square metre apartment above a tavern to save on rent. There’s a knock at the door and the landlord enters…”

Alice NW
Alice NW
10 days ago

Tick, Tick, Tick
By Alice Northwood

“Tick. Tick. TICK!”

“Can you put that thing away? I’m trying to focus!”

“No Serah… I cannot… put… the literal… God of Time away!” Felix huffed back in between breaths. In his arms, the rabbit shaped creature kept sounding each second, bumping against his chest while they ran into the darkness.

“The God of Time turned out to be a real pain in my…aah!” Her foot caught against something, but she managed to not let go of the shiny disk.

“Tick, tick. Be careful with that, or we will all be golem fodder soon enough.”

Serah cursed under her breath and pushed herself up, already running again. She pushed wet hair away from her brow. “How much time until sunrise?”

“One hundred ticks until sunrise.”

“One hundred?! Can’t you spew some light out of your magic paws or something?”

“Tick. I am not that kind of god. Tick. But we are close, it’s just around the corner.”

Serah fumbled against the curved wall, Felix following close behind. Cold air brushed against their sweaty skin as they turned into a wide chamber. Up ahead, a round altar carved into the bedrock stood under a small opening.

“Felix, quick!”

Breathless, Felix held the small creature in front of the altar.

“Tick. Tick…T…” Its eyes closed as it slid out of Felix arms and hummed into the air.
The voice that came out of it was deep and otherworldly.

“Set the artifact in place.”

Serah shoved the disk into the opening in the altar and stepped away, her heart beating in her throat.

The God of Time twirled in the air and the disk glowed bright at first, so bright that it blinded them for a moment, before receding back into a soft shine.

“Oh, thank the lords.”

Felix dropped onto the floor next to Serah and put his hand on her shoulder. “We did it.”

The rabbit like creature popped between them, its voice back to the high pitch they knew. “What did we do?”

Somewhere deep in the mountain, a rumble shook its core, and the siblings held each other.

Berith Quinn
Berith Quinn
10 days ago

The Witch’s Web
(A Tale from Aetherion)
By Berith Quinn

As a hooded figure slowly entered the store, the faint chime of the door’s bell brought the attention of Ysolde and her daughter Rowena to their potential customer. Though the visitor’s footsteps were as silent as the grave, it drummed its fingers along the shelves, almost matching the faint ticking of the store’s clock.

The silence of the store echoed between the slow drumming of the figure’s metallic fingers that crept their way from underneath the tattered robe.

Before Rowena could collect her wits and attend to their customer, Ysolde wordlessly shook her head, as she dismissed her daughter with a wave of her hand.

“There is no need, my child, this old friend, no? Best to close store. We need long chat, yes?” Ysolde smiled with cold sincerity, while her golden eyes sparkled with deep curiosity. With one hand, the verhexten shopkeeper offered a hand to her guest, while leading the way to a secluded room.

The visitor stared silently at Ysolde’s hand, as they continued to drum their needle-like talons on the wooden shelf. Time seemed to hang in the air, as though time itself was holding its breath, waiting for the visitor’s decision.

“We have much to discuss, Grymhold.” The figure spoke calmly, as it strode silently past Ysolde. Though her voice was soft and gentle, it held the weight of countless years.

“Yet time is short, no?” Ysolde smirked, unfettered by her visitor’s thinly veiled anger.

“Fate is my domain. Not that of an old witch and a council of delusional mortals.” The visitor growled with disdain, as sapphire eyes glared from the depths of her hood, like a spider examining its prey.

“Gods are dead, no? Well… you… not so much, Great Weaver. But your siblings… silent… gone…”

The goddess and the verhexten stood silently as they both mourned a world that was. A world once filled with gods and magic. Not a world slowly ebbing away.

“A darkness is approaching…” The Great Weaver sighed with melancholy.

“That we agree… yes…”

The store’s clock chime echoed as midnight struck.

“Where do you stand, Grymhold?”

Sam C.
10 days ago

Once Upon a Time, The Rose was Great.
By: Sam C.

Once upon a time, The Rose was great.

She was the most beautiful, the most perfect. Light pink petals of velvet feel atop lively, jagged leaves and a stem of dark green. She was The Rose. The golden standard, the genesis. The stars and sky bowed their heads to her magnificence.

Once upon a time, The Rose was great.

She was honored, worshipped. “The Perfect Rose,” they called her. Each adoring fan at every prestigious gala. Every noble, king, and senator. All of them were in love. All of them bowed to her.

Once upon a time, The Rose was great.

The Rose, on display for the wealthy. Then, a crowd, barreling in like a flood. Pain. Pain everywhere as she was battered, bruised, attacked in the fray. All hands were on her, all the people fighting over her.

Once upon a time, The Rose was great.

She was no longer perfect. Now, she was a martyr. The crowds that came to see her were few and far between. Far from worship, this new, awful way was. They felt sorry for her. “Oh, this was The Perfect Rose? Oh, but look at her now, beaten and broken and wilted. How the mighty have fallen.”

Once upon a time, The Rose was great.

She sat alone now. In a private room with her blue ceramic vase, the crimson curtains drawn, the sunlight muted. The artificial, cold light was all that greeted her then. Once in a while a servant would come in and water her, vastly uninterested.

Once upon a time, The Rose was great.

Now? Now only darkness was around her. She was alone on a barren brown ground, the stars and the sky long since dead. Faded and browned were her petals, now so dry and fragile. Her stem, broken and crushed, light and sharp and horrible. All that was left was The Rose. Until she heard a sound. A man stood there. There all along, she knew. Somehow, he’d seen it all. Finally, her broken self crumbled and blew away.

Once upon a time, The Rose was great.

C. M. Weller
10 days ago

A Relentless Progression [A Devil’s Tale]
C. M. Weller

The pendulum sliced the hour into neat seconds. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. They were like daggers hitting their target. Deadly hits reminding Bai that time was taking him further from the moments when things were RIGHT.

Correct. Accurate. As they should have been.

He did not twitch at the ticking of a clock. He was too perfect for such. He was stone still as he waited for the scratching of the mayor’s paperwork to cease.



One would think that Humans, with their brief spans of life, would not spend time this unwisely. Paperwork made to be filed away had to be one of their more illogical accomplishments.



If this mayor was attempting to make Bai sweat, then the effort was futile. Elves didn’t sweat. They PERSPIRED. In fact, Bai did not perspire. Bai could out-wait cats. He had spent a year watching a tree grow from seed.



The clock was bludgeoning more seconds from both their lives. Finally, the mayor finished his work. “Ah. Yes. The master of the mound, as I recall?”

“That is the title of my father, long passed,” said Bai. “I am merely a Master of Shadows. What matter takes me from my needing students for so long?” Which was as close as Bai would get to admitting this was annoying.

“One of your students, actually. This… Viscount of Whitekeep. I’ve received numerous complaints regarding him. A large volume of appeals.” It was a folio the size of a very thick novel.

Bai skimmed through them. “These are all appeals by one officer,” he said. “All regarding miniscule offences. If I were you, I would seek the OTHER common thread in these contentions.”

“I would, but he is well liked in this town.” The mayor’s pained look said everything he could not. “He’s applying pressure on a local level.” Pressure that foreign diplomacy could not relieve.

“I shall encourage his lordship to find ALTERNATE means of dealing with the law.”

Two days hence, he would be back again about the seven-year-old Viscount trying to HIRE Druempf to “ensure good behaviour.”

10 days ago

The Final Ticks


The sun glinted off the armor of the chevaliers as the Seer Jenniflower marched up the main street, her shoes clicking rhythmically on the wooden sidewalk. She looked over the youngsters oiling weapons and checking armor as battle loomed. She was pondering how to use her recently awakened powers when one of the young men ran to her. “Madam, are you the seer?”

“Yes, young Chevalier. Though I am new to my powers.”

“Please, I must know if my death is soon.” He held out his hands. “Please.”

“Very well.”

Jenn took his hands, the world trembling at the edges. In that instant the youth grew old, wrinkles spreading across his face as his bright armor crumpled into damp rags. All around him swarmed flitting shadows of strangers on the muddy street as a driving rain fell, his old eyes struggling to find a friendly face. But there was no one for him any longer. He coughed, wet and ragged, raising his gnarled hand missing three fingers towards the river of humanity.

“Spare a silver for an old soldier?” The Chevalier coughed, shivered, squinting at nothing. “Ma’am, silver, for an old soldier?”

I have to do something. But I can’t offer coins to a distant ghost.

Rain or tears began streaming down the man’s cheeks as he turned away from the indifferent crowd. The worn out old man sagged and then fell, fell into a refuse pile in an old alley, having lost his final battle. He coughed, and coughed, and coughed in a terrible rhythm until the rattling wound down to nothing…

Jenniflower gasped as the vision ended.

“What’s the matter?” The Chevalier asked. “What did you see?”

Jenn swallowed, facing the impossible. Without meaning to she began speaking, her voice a miles away. “Your death won’t come on this battlefield. Not if you’re careful and confident. I suspect that you’ll live longer than you think you will.”

“The Gods are Good.” He smiled. An intact smile, not yet ruined by time. “You have my deepest thanks.”

“No thanks are necessary,” she whispered, tapping away on the walk. “Truly.”

10 days ago


Dusk awaited the knock. It was right on time, as always. He never arrived another way except on time.

She sat at the table across from Goloor. A game as old as time, and a rivalry even older: student versus teacher. Here, she would show all she had learned.

Goloor moved first. Pawn to E4. She returned in kind with E5. Never leave even the smallest piece unguarded.

Knight to F3. The game was starting of rather typical. Set up the board by mirroring the opponent until the moment was optimal. He hated copycats, and she planned on utilizing that in the mental portion of the game.

But… she could have sworn she moved the knight. Why was the pawn the one in that spot?

Dusk searched the potentials. Certainly her teacher couldn’t be so petty as to use time magic to win a game.

There were still ways for her to win. She took a calming breath. The white knight took one of her pawns, but she had a way to capture it. The board looked almost the way it had started.


They locked eyes for a moment, red meeting gold. Something wasn’t right about this match, and she was going to find a way to make it work in her favor.

King to F7. How did she let herself get into such a precarious position?

Possibilities again. There were a few ways to save this game, but was she willing to take those risks?

Pawn to D5. She just had to keep the game going where she could see it in her favor, not that there were many of those options left.





Her teacher kept putting on the heat. Dusk could have sworn she moved a bishop, not a pawn, but the board said otherwise. Time magic had to be in play, but she had already been using it to try and maneuver into winning outcomes. His manipulation of the the board was to be expected.

Bishop takes bishop. There was still a way to win.








10 days ago

And Now That Dream Has Gone From Me
By Marx (Overly Familiar: Apocalypse #4)

He watched His dream with new eyes. He could feel the change in the air. He’d been tasked with overlooking the dream that everyone else saw as reality for as long as He could remember. And it had grown… tiring. Knowing it would come to an end was a relief He couldn’t describe.

Speaking of which…

He turned around as He felt the two approaching Him. To the left was Death, the beginning of the end. And to right was Death’s horseman, the end of the end.

They both glared at Him with the black voids that were their eyes, broken only by the blinding white of their irises.

He turned away from them, looking at His dream once more. “It… is beautiful, is it not? The worlds… the universes… all the souls that reside within them… whether they be spiritual or Earthbound…



“I know I’ve put you both in an unenviable position and you might think of me harshly, but–“

The horseman’s scythe had swung before He’d even realized it was summoned.

It was over that quickly.

The dreamer of the dream was dead.

Reality itself shuddered with that truth.

Death laughed.

Her horseman raised an eyebrow.

“Apologies, my beloved. He just… really hated being interrupted.” Death cleared her throat after she’d finished with her laughter. “Anyway, you may resume.”

With a roll of his eyes, her horseman focused on the corpse beneath him.

The final seal was broken.

An ominous mist rose from his weapon and then everything that remained of Him was drawn into the horseman like a magnet.

Death watched as her fated mate inhaled deeply, the very universe expanding and contracting with his breath. Another laugh escaped her lips. “It looks good on you.”

Her horseman opened his eyes and stared at his scythe with a frown. “I take no joy in this.”

“This isn’t about joy or sorrow, my love. Leave those to the mortals. This is about what must be done and your control over it.”

He nodded and his scythe misted once more. “Let’s get to work then.”